Battle Worn
by Dreaming Ani
Summary: The 100 have been cast off the Ark, conflicts with the Lexas tribe and the ground that they've landed on being unhabitable they are forced to wander. In their long journey to find a place they can call home they encounter a Village of strange warriors. Will the 100 finally find a place to call their own? or will they be forced to wander forever? BellamyXOC


So let me set the mood here, the 100 are wandering having found living at the drop sight uninhabitable, they are looking for a safe place to live.

No Lexa, No mountain men, no Ark coming down to earth. All will be explained in the story line though so just bear with me for a bit. I swear it'll be worth while!

Keywords to know before continuing on:

 _Ahaw_ : "Ruler" or "Leader"

 **Che-Chatal** : Loosely translates to - "Tree Dwellers"

Without further ado, here's the first installment, Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to the 100. nor the image used for the cover art!

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The air rushed about her face as she rode into their camp. The great horned beast she rode upon was panting a smooth steady beat that was matched by her racing heart beat. A group of smiling faces greets the riders as they dismount and hand out the various satchels filled with their stolen plunder. The women and men laugh and smile grateful that the battle against the other clan had not cost them their husbands, wives, daughters or sons. The riders quickly dismount their horses and allow the younger villagers—still too young to partake in battle, still training for the day they were ready—take their beasts to their corral.

Bodies sore and aching, those who tired and needed food made their way over to the fires. No one bothered asking if they were in need of help for none would ever take it; they were a proud race of people. The leader of the bunch made her way over to their _Ahaw_ 's tent intent on sharing with her the news she was sent to retrieve. Looking upon the large tent it didn't exactly look any different than he other small tents set up on their temporary camp. The blackened tarp was patched in several places it did not look like a tent an _Ahaw_ would occupy, but perhaps this was the point.

Pushing past the black leather flap she enters a tent filled with weapons, maps and a soft red glow from lit lanterns. The smell of herbs burning invade her senses and instantly calm her with their familiarity. Once she's standing within the middle of the tent she drops to one knee and bows respectfully before standing up and facing her _Ahaw_. Her _Ahaw_ 's voice calls out to her from where he sits at a stump of a large fallen tee that now doubled as a table. The man is bent over, old eyes pouring over a map, his lined and scarred features illuminated by the candles. The warrior waits, quietly and patiently, for the _Ahaw_ to make note of her presence before she speaks, "Isis…you have returned. What is the news?"

" _Ahaw_ ," her voice is a rumble of husky baritones not often found in women. It held a quiet strength that roused a feeling of esteem from those whom heard it, "our neighboring tribes speak of a god king. They say he and his people were born among the fires of the old gods. That they fell from the sky." With a sigh she pauses to rake a hand over her tired face and begins again, "Who they are and where they come from is nothing but myths and legends. Still, I cannot find a tribe which lends their allegiance to them. They belong to no one but themselves these, **sky people** , as the tribes have begun to call them. But they all agree the god king that leads them is a fierce warrior."

There's the familiar scrap of papers sounded in the dim lighting as the Ahaw turn to fully face his warrior. Tired gray eyes turn to her allowing her to take in the great _ahaw_. Time, age and war have battered his appearance stripping him of his once famed beauty. Still though, one could make it out when a smile happened to grace his lips. One could see it when he straightened his spine in the battlefield and jutted out his jaw. One could see it when he held a sword in one hand while his other tenderly held a child from the villages. His once dark hair, dark as shadows, was now a wistful white matching his aging eyes. Braids adorned his gray hair, while black furs covered his body. Despite his age the man was a force to be reckoned with. He still towered over the young warriors, still out matched them in strength, and moved faster than they would ever dream. He was the village Ahaw after all.

"A god king _and_ a fierce warrior you say?" the deep rumble of the Ahaw's voice shaking the very shadows that lingered in the tent, "Do we know where this clan is headed? And if they mean war?"

War. The word left a heavy pit of black in both of their stomachs. They were no strangers to it, both Ahaw and warrior, war was a way of life to them. But they had just now beaten back the snake eaters of the western mountains. They had just earned peace with these people paid with in blood of their own. It has only been four winters since then. The Ahaw knew he could not put his people through another war in such a short time.

Nodding Isis continues on, "We tracked them for a few days and it seems his path will eventually have him cut through the black forest, through our hunting grounds and eventually lead them through our village."

"How many of his men are with him?" her Ahaw asks with a dangerous flash of his silver eyes.

"From what we gathered, it looks to under a hundred," Isis answers watching her Ahaw, awaiting his orders, his command becoming law the moment it left his lips.

Tall and proud the _ahaw_ stood dwarfing everything in the tent. He moved with purpose as he stopped to stand before his general, his commander, his most loyal warrior. Quietly he stops before her and allowing his wise eyes to bear down on her, to take all of her in. His eyes scan the expanse of her face and without wanting to they fix themselves on her eyes. Eyes, large and hypnotic, the color of sweet honey. These were eyes of another, hers, no ones. He takes in her slight frame. Despite her age she has not grown in some time. Despite all the training, all the hardships of battle, she remained short and slight. Her appearance gave off an air of childlike innocence. Though, the great _ahaw_ , knew that to be quiet the opposite.

Skin the softest shade of cinnamon was littered in black ink this warrior had earned through her life. Ink that showed she was just as capable as the older generals at his table. Ink that showed she was every bit—if not more—willing to enter bloodshed for her people if only they should ask. Yes, Isis—his most loyal general and little warrior—her heart and soul forged by the black and bloody flames of battle.

"Send word out to the warriors, I want them armed and patrolling. Keep the children off the ground, everyone is to fall back into the tree's, let no one stray from the village," he tells her swiftly. His shoulders setting with the responsibility of his people, "We can not risk that these 'Sky People' should wish to wage war against us."

The young warrior before him says nothing simply bows her head in respect and turns to do as her _Ahaw_ has asked.

—X—

He woke with pain coursing readily through his head. A groan slipped past his lips as he attempted to grab hold of his pounding head. But his action was stopped before it began for his arms were bound behind his back. Brown eyes flashed open and darted across an unfamiliar tent. For a moment he can't remember how he's come to be where he is at this very moment. But then flashes spark in his mind and he remembers.

The feel of cool wind whipped at his face as he chased a four horned elk into the forest. The game in these parts of the woods were plentiful. It had been a while since the group had eaten anything besides berries, nuts and weeds. So when his hazel eyes had spotted the large game he had rushed out to get it despite being out on patrol on his own. In hindsight, he muses, this was probably not his greatest of ideas.

Somewhere in the midst of chasing after the elk he had lost his bearings. But one couldn't blame him. These woods were new to him. These rolling hills, these massive trees, these mazes of lush green vegetation were all new to him. They had been moving, tying to find a suitable place to lay down their tents and finally call home. But so far every tribe they encountered wanted nothing to do with them. Some were too superstitious threatening war. Others simply didn't like the idea of sharing anything, least of all land and resources. So the hundred had trekked on, Lincoln—former grounder, not willing to leave Octavia go—had led them to the most peaceful of clans.

When the arrow came flying out of nowhere and impaled itself upon the floor at his feet he was more than shocked. Even more so when the arrow burned and then exploded in a plume of gray smoke. His vision swam, his head felt light, he was out before he hit the floor. Truthfully he can still feel his head spinning from the gray smoke.

"What is your name," calls a soft voice from the darkness.

Whipping his head up his eyes narrow and attempt to place a body with the voice. But his eyes are met with simple things like a bed, a fire, weapons, and oddly fashioned trinkets dangling from the ceiling. The smell of herbs burning are still wafting through the air faintly. He can almost make them out: lavender, vanilla and others that escaped his knowledge.

"Who's there?" he demands attempting to get on his feet only to find that they as well are bound.

There's heavy silence in the dimly lit room before a girl comes into view. The red and orange glow of the flames dance on skin overtly exposed. Black leather lined with silver lace designs covered most of her breasts but bared them enough to make him positively guess her gender. Matching black and silver lined leather was wrapped around her waist acting like a tattered version of a skirt. It was slung low on her hips exposing the soft jut of her hip bones and ended mid thigh—higher up on her right leg and her left. Silver greaves gripped her forearms while matching braces guarded her shins. Black sandals sat on her small and dainty feet. Large swords strapped to her back gleamed viciously under the flames light.

But all this had come as second hand information from his peripheral vision. For his eyes had been trained on the faceless woman's head. Or at least the mask that the woman wore. White but smeared with what looked like black ash it was gleaming viciously against red and orange flames of the fire. It was a skull. A skull unlike anything he had ever seen or heard of before.

It was large, large enough to cover her whole head. The long beak it had—dangerous and lethal looking, despite its dead state—was hooked and black. The holes in it's head for it's eyes were not two in umber but three. All three filled with dark shadows. What looked like horns angled themselves back shooting past the faceless woman's head. The woman—his captor—had taken this skull and become it, it seems. Her hair, dark as any shadows dreams, had adorned her onyx braids with darker fathers. Her hair becoming the vicious birds mane and vice versa. Every now and again a flame would lift high enough and capture the gleam of silver feathers lost on the woman's hair.

He couldn't help but think this woman was how legends of old had started. Monsters in the dark forest. Black magic in the moonlight. If he hadn't read the stories himself and properly processed them as child's play he would have been struck with fear at the sight of her.

"Who are you and what brings you to our lands?" she asks again the eyes of that vicious beast leveled with his own. Unnerving him further. She sits on her haunches before him.

For a moment his mind battles with him, it tells him not to breathe a word of his true name or origin. It was safer to lie and say anything else but the truth. It was safer for his people, his sister, so he narrows his eyes and sets his jaw before demanding, "What am I doing here? Where am I?"

The bird tilts it's head at him, eyeing him like one did a small worm before destroying it, he can almost feel eyes roaming over the features of his face before the silence is broken, "Are you the one they call the god king?"

She ignores him. Her question bringing him up short. God king? What the hell was that? He narrows his dark eyes and bites out, "Where am I?!"

He can almost make out the quiet resolve hardening in the bird woman as she moves to stand and begins to retreat. She's at the entrance of the room before her turns back and tells him, "You are a prisoner of the **Che-Chatals**. You will do well to remember your life—as well as your peoples lives—lies in our hands."

At her words his blood runs cold. His heart lurches to a stop before picking up pace as if he's running down a steep mountain. He wants to shout out curses and a slew of threats of his own but his tongue lies frozen in his mouth. What was to say she wasn't issuing out idle threats. They could easily have his people surrounded where he left them. His people—though very capable, trained by yours truly—could only defend what they could see. If they unloaded those smoke bombs he had been bagged with none of them stood a chance at fighting back.

Octavia, the name hung heavy in his head as he sat there on the floor of a strange room.

She must see his body tense, his body taut with pent up rage and desperation, she must taste his blood lust in the air for she almost sighs out her words, "You are safer in the tent little god king."

It's a threat, a strange one at that, did she want to keep him alive? Or was she simply keeping him alive to do worse to him? His mind was reeling. Thoughts of his people alone in the woods, wondering where he's gone off too, seem to weigh down on his guilt ridden heart. He was better than this. It wasn't like him to be caught unprepared and get kidnapped in the middle of the day. It just wasn't like Bellamy Blake to be tied down and threatened with the lives of his people while he remained helpless on the floor.

It takes him a while before he realizes he's been left alone. Left alone to contemplate the bird woman's words. Left alone to...plot his escape.

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No joke, I was so nervous posting this chapter. I've been going over it and over it trying to talk myself out of posting it but...what the hell right? If it's bad someone would tell me and what the worst that can happen? I remove it?

So, this is my first 100 FanFic. I really hope you all enjoy. Hope to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Thanks a million to those of you who read it! I wish you all the best!

-Ani3

Disclaimer: I do not own the 100 nor the characters created by Morgan Kass. the image belongs to artist Mezamero.


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